


The Way To A Man's Heart

by sing_to_me_oh_muse



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, First Meetings, Fluff and Smut, Food-truck owner!Dean, Kansas State Fair, M/M, Meet-Cute, Pie-making Competition, Proposals, Top Benny
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-01-17
Packaged: 2019-10-11 11:59:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17446565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sing_to_me_oh_muse/pseuds/sing_to_me_oh_muse
Summary: Now, the winner of the Kansas State Fair Pie Competition, a drumroll please... number thirty-nine!""Second place? Second place?" Dean protests. "Well then who the hell got first?"From the back of the small crowd steps a man, shoulders broad and chest deep, his teeth flashing white against a neatly-trimmed beard. He's wearing a white Henley, suspenders, and high-waisted pants combo that has no business looking as damn hot as it does. Holy shit, Dean thinks, but the knee-jerk realization of attraction only serves to stoke the grudging anger."Guilty as charged." The man drawls, holding up huge, calloused hands.Dean makes an aborted gesture with his fork, barely waiting for the man's wry nod before he scoops up a forkful of the pie and shoves it in, frowning preemptively, ready to challenge the judges' choice. Immediately, his knees weaken, spices exploding across his tongue, texture silken, pecans crisp and sugared, pastry singing to him like the voices of angels.  He makes a noise so damn pornographic that the middle-aged woman next to him claps her hands over her kid's ears.Dean points the fork at the gorgeous pie-god. "Marry me."





	The Way To A Man's Heart

"Hey Pam, I'm heading over to the judging tent now - can you and Ash hold down the fort?"

Pamela salutes him with the spatula as Dean throws his apron under the bench, out of tripping range. "We got it. Lunch rush won't start for another hour anyway. Now go get your first-place trophy so you can put it on the Prize Wall of Male Compensation."

Dean laughs, stepping neatly out of the way as she aims a swat at his ass with the spatula. "Oi, that's unhygienic. And you of all people know I ain't compensating for anything."

"Watch it buddy," Pamela winks, "Just because there's hay here doesn't mean we're gonna go for a roll in it."

Eyebrows waggling, Dean climbs down the steps and out of the food truck. Technically, he and Pam haven't gone hay-rolling since she met Jesse (who he's sure will last _forever_ ) but it's still fun to flirt anyway. He walks through the fairgrounds with a grin on his face, taking in the childish screams and the sizzle of various artery-clogging foods. Fifth year at the Kansas State Fair and it hasn't got boring yet, Dean coming back every time, partly for the atmosphere, partly so he and his food truck can make a killing, but mostly for this: the Kansas State-Wide Pie Competition. He's entered three years and won three years, so he could be forgiven for being confident, right?

"Come _on,_ " Sam yanks him into the tent the moment he spots Dean. "The judges are deciding now. They're reading the results out at eleven."

"It's only five to, Sammy, chill." Dean grins. "Alright, let's check out the competition."

There's a half-decent crowd of people in the tent, mostly expectant hopefuls - some faces, like Donna's, that Dean recognizes from previous years, a few newcomers, and a whole lot of people just here to torture themselves by looking at some damn good pies. He scans the table, trying to stop his mouth watering from the smell of so many combined scents, each of the aforementioned pies neatly numbered and set out in perfect lines, each one with a slice missing from the judges' tastings. Dean whistles. There's got to be at least fifty pies there, and even though it's basically the epitome of Dean's perfect wet dream, it's enough to put the first flutterings of nervousness into his stomach.

"C'mon Dean, you've got nothing to worry about." Sam nudges into him, shoulder to shoulder. "Your pies have been better than ever, and 'sides, when have Mom's recipes ever failed you before?"

"I'm not worried." Dean scoffs, searching for his entry, reassured at the sight of the golden-brown laced on the top, cinnamon-and-whisky apples peeking out from between the lattice-work.

He scopes out his potential competitors. Number sixteen, pumpkin by the look of it, pastry-work impeccable, but the pumpkin not as smooth as it could be; number forty-two, also apple, not cooked as far as it should be, but with those fancy-ass mandolined apple slices that the judges like so much. Dean's eyes fall on a pecan pie, drawn irresistibly toward its beauty, but before he can look closer for any flaws, the judges file in.

"Okay everyone, welcome to the annual Kansas State Fair Pie Competition." The head honcho announces, gripping her clipboard in both hands. "Now before I announce the winners, I just wanted to say thank you to all of you for entering... this year's been very difficult to judge, but also perhaps the best - and most scrumptious - year yet."

_Who the fuck says 'scrumptious'?_  Dean wonders, rocking forward onto his toes.

"So we'll do this from fifth place up," She clears her throat, the tension in the room amping up. "Please clap of course, but I'd request that our winners wait until _after_ the ceremony to collect their prizes. Uh, so fifth place, with a gorgeous apple pie - number forty-two."

From the left of him, a teenage girl makes a surprised noise under her breath, obviously not having expected to place at all, flushing a little at the round of applause.

"In fourth place, with a fascinating combination of mixed berries - number twenty-three!"

Dean watches as Donna plasters on a bright grin, clapping along before coming to stand next to him, smile faltering. "Darnit, I'm losing my touch."

He pats her back consolingly, but doesn't dare take his eyes off the judges. Dean refuses to believe he got anything under fifth place, obviously, so now it's just down to where he's going to place in the top three. Although, excitement tautening his chest, Dean can admit he's pretty sure it's going to be another year, another gold.

"Third place, with some of the best-rolled pastry in the competition - number sixteen." There's a low mutter cutting through the clapping, and Dean smirks at it. Another first-place hopeful cut down. "And then, in second place, as mouthwatering as ever, is number twelve!"

That's his number. That's Dean's number. Shit, he's been _beaten._

"Now, the winner of the Kansas State Fair Pie Competition, a drumroll please... number thirty-nine!"

Dean blinks rapidly, mouth falling open wide enough to catch flies as the bravado melts right away, replaced by a trickling of cold disappointment. The hoots and whistles fade away quickly, people already beginning to make the slow migration out of the tent to leave only a handful of people left. Donna and a couple of the other winners step forward for handshakes and certificates, but no-one collects the trophy. His trophy. And that's when Dean regains his voice.

"Second place? _Second place?_  " Dean protests. "Well then who the hell got first?"

From the back of the small crowd steps a man, shoulders broad and chest deep, his teeth flashing white against a neatly-trimmed beard. He's wearing a white Henley, suspenders, and high-waisted pants combo that has no business looking as damn hot as it does. _Holy shit,_ Dean thinks, but the knee-jerk realization of attraction only serves to stoke the grudging anger.

"Guilty as charged." The man drawls, holding up huge, calloused hands.

Lunging forward to grab a fork, Dean searches out number thirty-nine (the goddamn one he'd been eyeing up before the judges waltzed in!) and ignores the disbelieving scoffs from the people around him. Dean makes an aborted gesture with his fork, barely waiting for the man's wry nod before he scoops up a forkful of the pie and shoves it in, frowning preemptively, ready to challenge the judges' choice. Immediately, his knees weaken, spices exploding across his tongue, texture silken, pecans crisp and sugared, pastry singing to him like the voices of angels.  He makes a noise so damn pornographic that the middle-aged woman next to him claps her hands over her kid's ears.

Dean points the fork at the gorgeous pie-god. "Marry me."

The man laughs, half-ducking his head, the rim of his fiddler cap casting a shadow over the top half of his face.

"Hey, I'm being deadly serious here." Dean takes a step forward, cutlery still held out like a weapon. "This is a genuine freaking proposal. You, me, and a chapel, right now."

"Dean..." Sam calls, indulgent.

"Uh-uh." Dean goes in for another mouthful, moaning through it - how can it become _better?_ \- and then runs his tongue slowly over his lips. "Mom always said to me, 'you ever find a woman who makes a better pie than me, then you marry her.' Now, turns out I bat for whatever team's more likely to score me a home run, but that over there is Mom's recipe alright, and this _here_ is the best damn pie I've ever tasted."

To his credit, the man doesn't look affronted by Dean's ramblings. Instead, there's a glint to his eyes and an angle to his smirk that suggests amusement easing all the way into flirtation, folding his arms over his chest in a way that makes his Henley strain over his muscles.

"Tell you what, Chief," He rumbles, all delicious Louisiana accent, "I jus' so happen to be the old-fashioned type. So how bout I collect that trophy over there, and then you an' me can go get something to eat - go a courtin' before we tie the knot, so to speak."

This man will be the death of Dean, he can see it now. And he doesn't even know his name.

Smile somewhere in the junction between feral and awed, Dean holds his hand out. "Hell yeah. Dean Winchester."

"Benjamin Lafitte." They shake, Dean's mind going places at the man's easy strength. "But call me Benny."

"Benny..." Dean repeats.

This close, Dean can feel himself edging towards flustered, caught by the steady intensity of Benny's clear-blue eyes, desperately wanting to rasp his thumb across the greying parts of Benny's beard. He's clearly older than Dean's twenty-six years, maybe early to mid-thirties, but then Dean tends to go for older men anyway.

"I, uh, I need to get back to work, the lunch rush's almost here. But I'll tell you what... meet me at say, two, at the Roadhouse food truck. I'll get you a free meal and we can spend the whole afternoon getting to know each other. Now, go get your trophy, big boy."

"Thanks sugar - you just keep an eye out for me, huh?"

"Sure will," Dean murmurs, Benny giving his shoulder a firm pat on the way past.

The instant they're out of Benny's hearing range, Sam's up in Dean's personal space, eyes wide and the corner of his mouth hitching up. "What the hell was all that?"

"What was what?"

"Dude, I saw your face. You were about to rip him a new one."

"Yeah, well." Dean flushes, trying for a nonchalant shrug. "That was before I saw how scorchingly hot he is."

Sam rolls his eyes and Dean licks his fingertip, holding it up and making a teasing _tsss_ through his teeth. "Okay, yeah, but you can't just go propositioning people in the middle of crowds like that," Sammy points out, slaking his hair back. "I mean, how'd you even know the guy would take it okay? Kansas isn't the deep South, but you know... some people don't take too well to getting hit on by a member of the same gender."

Dean has a proper laugh at that one.

"Okay man, so firstly: I ain't no wilting daisy, some idiot wants to get homophobic with me and they get a fist to the face. Secondly, there's this thing called a gaydar? And let me tell you for free, there's exactly two types of people who wear that kind of cap. Fishermen, and bears who enjoy hanging around leather bars."

It takes a solid five seconds for Sam to parse his way through that, but when he does, the way his nose wrinkles up is absolutely priceless. "Dean! I _don't_ want to _know.”_

"You asked." Dean winks.

They relapse into silence as they walk back to the makeshift food-court, Sam evidently grappling with something.

"Did Mom really say that?"

Catching sight of the seriousness in Sam's face, Dean lets the smile drop from his face. "Yeah. Yeah, she did. And I mean, you never know... maybe she was right?"

"Yeah, guess so." Sam shakes himself out of it. "Okay, go have fun flipping burgers, then."

"Bitch!" Dean calls after him.

"Jerk." Sam throws up his middle finger as he leaves.

The time until two o'clock quite literally flies by in an intense rush of patty-flipping, relish-spreading, chain of burger-assembly. In the tiny lulls between one wave of customers and another, Dean relays the whole story to Ash and Pamela, receiving several punches to the arm from Pam until he breaks down and describes Benny's (impressive) physique. He's hunting for another elusive bag of red onions, cursing the smallness of the food truck's interior for about the seventieth time that day, when Pam calls down to him from behind the serving counter.

"Hey loverboy, you got an admirer here! Could this be the handsome beau from Louisiana who you've been swooning over for the last three hours?"

Chucking the red onions onto the counter haphazardly, Dean leans out. "Hey there, Casanova. You the knight in shining armor here to rescue me from my tall tower?"

"Mmm, I dunno, Princess." Benny checks him out, shameless, before his eyes flick pointedly towards the grill. "Don't I get to sample the merchandise first?"

"Knew you only wanted me for my buns." Dean quips.

Laughing, Benny pulls his hand out from behind his back, raising both eyebrows. "This sweeten the deal?"

"Son of a bitch, you saved the pie!"

"Well, couldn't let it go to waste, now could I? Sides, if it's good enough to warrant a marriage proposal, I figured I could share it with my new fiancé."

Dean smiles softly, and then glances out behind Benny, checking if there's anyone looking like they're about to queue up. It's emptier than a Western town at high noon out there, so he turns back to Pamela.

"You join Ash for a little while," he begins, jerking a thumb to Ash, snoring peacefully in the truck cab, "I'm gonna fry up a couple of burgers for me and Benny, and then I'm taking the afternoon off, okay?"

"Sure thing, Boss." Pamela grins. "You may as well take the whole rest of the day off, you've been working fourteen hours for the last couple of days."

"You sure?" Dean asks.

"Course, we can handle it. Now go get 'em, tiger."

Ash rolls his head back, apparently having only been dozing. "Stay safe, my dude. No glove, no love."

Dean puts a hand to his face as Ash immediately lapses back into sleep, and gestures for Benny to come around the back and into the truck itself. "Come on up, and ignore my employees, they're both insubordinate. How d'you like your meat?"

"On the bloody side." Benny grins, setting the remnants of the pie down on the countertop. "So, you own this place?"

"Sure do." Dean slides the rabbit food into the burger buns deftly. "Always kind of wanted to own my own diner, you know? Practically ate nothing other than diner food growing up, so I wanted to get the greasy-spoon vibe, just without the actual greasy-spoons."

"Damn... If that ain't the dream." Benny leans against the mini-fridge.

He's taken off his Henley and pulled the suspenders down to hang around his waist. It leaves him in nothing but a white singlet, his arms on the paler side of pink, forearms thickly haired on the backs. While his muscles aren't sharply defined, they're huge and tautly curved, bulging and making Dean really want to sink his teeth into that bicep, suck that thin sheen of sweat off the skin.

"You know, I used to work in a diner like that back in Carencro. Was gon' take over as owner too, till my ex-wife moved up here and took my lil Elizabeth with her."

"Moved to be closer, huh?" Dean asks sympathetically. "Yeah, I've got my own little tyke. Ben - he's six. He and my ex should be wandering around here somewhere."

"So, how long you been in our neck of the woods?" He changes the subject, toasting the burger buns over the grill.

"Not long. Comin' up for six months now." Benny puts his hand to the back of his neck. "I've barely moved in, to tell you the truth. But I figured hell, what's stopping me from checking out the baking competition round here?"

"Well, you sure showed us." Dean laughs, laying in some sliced pickle. "I ever get enough money together to buy my own place, I'd hire you right off as Chief of Pies."

"Sounds like a plan. Though I do a mean po'boy, if that interests you, sweetheart."

_Oh, I'm interested alright,_ Dean thinks, shivering a little despite the heat. He's never thought of himself as much of a one for pet-names, but there's something special about the way they roll easily off Benny's tongue, rounded sweetly by his accent. Clearly, Benny cottons onto it, because when Dean glances up, his grin is near to predatory.

"Uh, spicy mayo?" He asks, flipping their burgers over and laying slices of cheese on top.

"Sure thing."

Benny swings out the way as Dean ducks to the condiment shelf to get a refill on the mayonnaise (he's told Ash and Pam to refill something if it's empty just about a thousand times, but they never actually listen.) It puts Dean in a compromising position for a moment, practically on his knees with his head crotch-level in the confined space. Dean looks up, his best suggestive pout in place, touching his tongue to his bottom lip before he stands.

This time, it's Benny's turn to look flustered. "So uh, how bout you? Always lived in Kansas?"

"Born but not raised." Dean says, still grinning. "Dad moved me and my brother around a helluva lot, going from job to job, some legal, some not, until I was sixteen."

Benny raises his eyebrows, tilting his head for Dean to elaborate.

"Got caught using the five-finger discount. They probably would've let it slide, because you know, some teen trying to feed his kid brother ain't exactly NCIS shit," Dean spreads mustard on the top halves of the buns, turning them like a vase on a potter's wheel. "Course, then the fuzz checked my record and found the other petty thefts, that B&E from when I was thirteen, and voila, it was either juvie or a Boy's Home."

"And where was your Dad in all of this?"

"Fucked if I know," Dean boxes the burgers up. "I chose the Boy's Home, obviously, and he just never came to collect. Apparently he'd been feeding Sam some bullshit about me staying with our Uncle Bobby. Course, it backfired on Dad, because Sam called Bobby up asking to talk to me, and when Bobby figured out where I was, he sued Dad's ass to get custody of us."

"Good." Benny rumbles, taking the box he's offered. "Ain't no offense meant, but your Dad sounds like a jackass."

"No offense taken, man. He _was_ a jackass. Genuine one-hundred percent dick."

Dean leads the way out of the food truck, towards the concentric half-rings of hay bales that have been laid out for people to sit on. "Anyway, sorry you had to listen to my whole tragic backstory. Feel free to return the favor."

"Ain't much to tell." Benny says, taking a seat on the ground, leaning up against a hay bale with one knee drawn up, showing off the strong, thick line of his thigh, Dean having to rip his eyes away quickly from the bulge at the juncture of Benny's pants. "Grew up in a Southern Baptist family, one of the oldest Cajun families in America. Married my high school sweetheart at the age of twenty, and then immediately enlisted in the Navy. Spent three years there, five years in the SEALs, had a kid somewhere in the middle of that."

"Damn..." Dean bites into his burger. "Ex-Navy SEAL, huh? Well, put me down for scared and horny."

Benny chuckles, still running one thick finger contemplatively around the cardboard of his burger-box. "It was intense, that's for damn sure. I was pretty sure I was gon' stay military for the rest of my life, end up as a paper-pusher somewhere, cursin' out the newbies for bein' young and strong like I used to be."

Dean's sensing an _until_ coming, and judging by the sad twist to Benny's mouth, it isn't a story full of rainbows and sunshine. He shuffles closer, daring to get within a few humid inches of touching shoulders. "And then?"

"An' then," Benny sighs, "Andrea and I had gotten a divorce goin' into my sixth year of service. I was pissed, but there weren't much that I could do when it came to the custody battle. So I figured, hell, who's gon' know if I pick up some man from a bar, huh? But I started gettin' cocky, started flaunting it when I thought no-one was looking, and two years later got handed a dishonorable discharge, only a year before Don't Ask Don't Tell got repealed."

"What the fuck?" Dean's chest clenches. "That's bullshit, man."

Benny hums in affirmation. "It is what it is, cher. I coulda fought to get back in, but what was the point?"

He coughs a laugh, rolling his shoulders back and knocking his arm into Dean's. "Right, cry me a river, like you need to be listenin' to this..."

Dean presses right on back, thrilling at the sun-warmth of Benny's skin, even as he feels the pit of his stomach deepen with anger. "Oh come on, we're betrothed, right? I think sharing and caring is a marital obligation."

"You're a good man, Dean Winchester." Benny says softly, looking at Dean with that kind, blue-glass gaze.

He averts his eyes at that, making a scoff of disagreement. "You gonna eat that burger or rock it to sleep?"

Benny half-smiles, a knowing hitch of one side of his mouth, and eases the box open. He takes the burger in both hands, Dean taking a bite from his own as if in encouragement, before he chows down. There's a moment where Dean waits with bated breath, searching Benny's expression for any hint of his opinion...

And then, Benny makes a noise that Dean can only class as a _moan_ , brow furrowing as he chews, takes another fevered bite. "Holy shit, Chief... Fuck, this is probably the best burger I ever had."

"Yeah well, special marinade, you know?" Dean begins, but Benny doesn't seem to hear him, taking bite after bite in the messy way that Sammy always tells Dean off for, and it should be disgusting, except there's also something kind of flattering about it, the way Benny's dropped all Southern manners to fucking devour Dean's cooking.

(It also gives Dean an excuse to wolf his own burger down like a teenage boy halfway through a GTA marathon, but hey, who's counting, right?)

Finally, Benny finishes it off, sucking the mayo off of his fingertips and then dabbing at the corners of his mouth self-consciously. "Lord, but that was good. I'm uh, sorry for the bad table manners, sweetheart, I ain't usually this rabid."

"Dude, don't worry about it, I like seeing how much you appreciate my cooking."

Benny stands, turns to Dean and says, "I'll be right back, cher, just gon' run a little errand. You wait right here."

"Because that isn't mysterious at _all._ " Dean mutters to himself, an eyebrow quirked.

He doesn't have long to wait though, Benny only disappearing into the throng of market stalls for a couple of minutes - during which Dean darts back to the food truck, grabs the pie and two plastic forks for good measure - and comes back to sit on their hay-bale expectantly. When Benny re-emerges, it's with one hand gently curled into a fist, and a teasing, gorgeous smile on his face that sends about a thousand alarm-bells ringing. _I'm in trouble,_ Dean's mind sings mockingly, as he watches the roll of Benny's gait, the easy swing of his shoulders.

"Dean Winchester," Benny starts, laugh-lines winging warmly from the corner of his eyes, "You make the kinda burger a man would gladly give up his bachelorhood for. Now, I know I ain't doing this proper-like, but since I can't go to your parents and ask for your hand..."

He gets down on one knee, and holds out a ring-pop, one of those plastic things with the giant candy ruby on top. "Would you do me the honor of marryin' me?"

Dean laughs and clutches at his chest, half in a good-humored mockery of emotion, half because okay, look, maybe there is a little something-something tugging at his heart. Around him, he can almost feel people's eyes fixate on them, and goes into a full-on swoon, leaping off the hay-bale to fall at Benny's feet.

"Of course I'll marry you, baby." He croons in falsetto, knee-walking forward to wrap Benny up in a hug, reveling in the press of hot, sticky skin, the way Benny's arms come instantly up around him. "So long as you keep baking me those delicious pies of yours."

"You got yourself a deal." Benny's chest rumbles with a laugh - and even though Dean's got a couple of inches on him, Benny seems so much taller, _bigger_ , like this, broad and enfolding Dean perfectly.

They pull away from each other, and Benny makes a grab for Dean's hand, solemnly working the ring-pop over and up Dean's ring finger, matching his Mom's ring on the other hand. Dean winks, wriggling his fingers alluringly, and is instantly rewarded by a shot of electricity down his spine as Benny lifts Dean's hand to press a chaste, whiskered kiss against the back of it.

"Now... about that pie."

They spend the next hour, hour and a half, demolishing the pie and talking about damn near anything and everything. Dean finds out a little more about Benny's family - Dean tells him about Mom, twisting her ring around his finger. They swap stories of fishing, cars, Dean raving about his Baby, Benny admitting that his truck is _perfectly okay_ but also kind of a piece of shit that Dean would hate to let see the light of day. And it's fucking amazing, probably the best first date Dean's ever been on, (if it counts.) There's this kind of ease, this attraction, that Dean hasn't really felt before. He finds himself laughing unabashed and roaring, but he also finds himself hit with almost physical awareness of the ginger notes picked out in Benny's beard by the sun, the way he looks at Dean, one eyebrow raised and forehead wrinkled, half-amusement-half-puppydog.

Eventually, Dean goes to get them a cider each, clinking the necks of the bottles together and smiling between each long drag.

"DAD!"

Dean only has time to lift the cider out of the way, thankful when he feels Benny take it out of his hand, before Ben runs directly into him, a black-shirted, ripped-jeansed hurricane with - _have mercy_ \- a giant inflatable hammer 

"Hey Ben," Dean wheezes, taking the full brunt of Ben's frontal attack, arms wrapped around his kid protectively.

"I got a hammer!" Ben tells him enthusiastically, and elbows Dean straight in the ribs as he scrambles back a step.

"Yeah Thor, I can see that." He laughs.

"I'm gonna beat up all the bad guys." Ben announces, swinging the hammer wildly. "Take that, Loki!"

Dean bats the hammer away playfully, battling it out until Ben lands a couple of direct hits on his face, pummeling Dean's chest as he falls backwards, yelling, "Oh no, defeated once again! But wait, the villain uses the tickle attack... the hero is helpless to resist!"

Giggling, Ben crumples to the ground, whacking Dean in the ribs with his hammer as he wriggles around, trying to get free. Dean backs off, panting and laughing, to avoid Ben's flailing limbs. Ben looks about ready to redouble his efforts, his slowly-deflating hammer held in a death-grip, but then his eyes fall on Benny.

"Who's that?" He asks accusingly, cheeks pink and eyes screwed up in suspicion.

" _Ben,_ oh thank God!" Lisa comes running from out between the stalls. "Benjamin Braeden, you do not run off like that. Oh, hello Dean, I'm sorry, I think he must have seen you - I turn my back for one minute, and whoomph, he's gone."

"Sorry Mom." Ben says, at least having the good grace to look ashamed for a second, before he immediately goes back to bugging Dean. "Dad... Dad... who is that? Is that your friend? Ooh, is he your _boooyfriend?"_

Lisa raises an interested eyebrow as Dean and Benny share an alarmed glance.

"Well, uh, I mean - I guess, it's," Dean fumbles.

Benny puts the ciders down carefully behind him, smiling a bit at Dean's umming and ahhing, before he ducks down to Ben's eye-level. "Well now, your Dad and I are sort of on a first date right now. So not friends, but not quite boyfriends either."

"Oh, okay." Ben says happily. "Did you bring him flowers? You're supposed to do that on a first date, and maybe chocolates, but I don't know if that's for when it's two boys."

"Naw, I didn't get him flowers or chocolates. But I did bring him pie."

Ben nods solemnly. "That was probably smart. Dad really loves pie, did you know that?"

"Think I'm beginning to get that idea, yes." Benny smirks, giving Dean's knee a gentle squeeze.

Dean blinks. Damn, he really needs to learn to give his kid some credit . Obviously the concept of Ben's Dad going on a date with not-his-mom isn't as difficult to understand as Dean had worried. And Benny though, he had handled that one like a pro, which was actually, oddly... attractive. Dean's never thought of himself as the kind of guy to get all broody over someone being good with kids - and it's not like he's got any ovaries to explode anyway - but he still finds it kind of heartwarming to watch Benny and Ben getting along with each other so easily.

"Dean, a word?" Lisa hisses, while Ben is otherwise occupied.

Standing and shuffling obligingly to her side, Dean is hustled over to the canvas wall of the nearest stall. "No offence here, but I have to ask. How serious is it with this guy?"

"Uh, I mean, I only met him this morning." He confesses, and receives a hard slap to his arm.

"For God's sake, Dean. Do you really think it's a good idea to introduce him to Ben as your boyfriend when you've barely met the man?" Lisa hisses, casting a look over at Benny.

"Lise, kids are more adaptable than you give them credit for. Yeah, Ben didn't take it too well when we broke it off, but we've always been really open with him about why that happened, and you know, my sexuality and stuff. I'm pretty sure he can handle the idea of me going on a few dates."

Lisa breathes in slowly, breathes out just as slowly, probably coaching herself through her own yoga-slash-mindfulness-techniques. "No, you're right, you're probably right. I just... it's the first time Ben's actually seeing you _with_ someone, and I guess I don't want him to get too invested, or start getting confused, especially since I'm thinking about entering the dating pool myself, and -"

"Woah, woah, chill." Dean laughs. "If he gets confused, we just talk to him until he gets it, okay? And besides, it's good that you want to get back into the dating game."

"Okay. Okay. So anyway, uh -" She nods towards Benny and Ben, still deep in conversation. "I probably should've introduced myself, huh? Instead of going into full parental freak-out mode."

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Dean gestures for her to follow him back to the hay bale, where Benny is now re-inflating the hammer under Ben's request. "Sorry about that Benny, co-parenting requires a lot of planning. This is Lisa, this little hellraiser's Mom. Lisa, I present Benjamin Lafitte, pie-maker extraordinaire and my date for today."

"Benny, please. Nice to meet you." Benny grins, a little out of breath.

"Nice to meet you too."

They shake hands as Dean settles back on the ground, taking the hammer from Benny's hands to finish inflating it, pushing the toggle in and giving it back to Ben.

"Alright kiddo, you want candy floss?" Lisa asks, pulling Ben in to her side.

"Yeah, yeah, I saw a candy floss stall that way!" Ben whoops, tugging Lisa along by the hand. He turns back momentarily to yell, "Thank you Dad's boyfriend!"

"Your boy is amazin' Dean, you know that?" Benny asks quietly, handing Dean his cider.

"I sure as hell do." Dean murmurs, his smile soft as he takes a long drag from the bottle.

"You get to see him often?"

"Every second week, yeah. It was a pretty amicable break-up, all things considered. And having parents who've split isn't so weird anymore, so Ben took it pretty well."

The corner of Benny's mouth twitches up sadly, looking into the depths of his bottle. "You got it good, sugar. Andrea and me, the split weren't pretty. We tried to keep the arguments where Elizabeth couldn't hear, but kids always know. She lets me see Lizabeth, just nowhere near as often as I would like."

"Damn... I couldn't imagine that, man. I'm sorry."

Benny shrugs, one shoulder rolling nonchalantly, but there's a hurt set to the line of his mouth. Despite the heat, Dean shuffles in closer until their arms press together from shoulder to elbow, trying to convey some kind of silent comfort. After a few seconds, Benny shakes off the melancholy, holding out his hand for Dean to take as he stands.

"What you say we go try an' win ourselves a stuffed animal, sugar?"

"Oh, you're on." Dean smirks, linking his fingers more solidly through Benny's. "You may have been a Navy SEAL, but I've spent my entire life training on the battleground of carnival games."

They wander through the stalls, hand in hand, Dean talking a bit about his childhood on the road - "World's Biggest Ball of Twine, twice, and it's not even that big." - and Benny reciprocating with tales of his SEALs training that make Dean's abs quiver with fear. They quickly find one of the shooting games to try and win, a line of tin soldiers sitting a few feet behind a BB gun. To Dean's chagrin, he only gets three out of five shot down, earning him the pick of the second shelf, where the sadder exhibits of stuffed animal reside.

"Well, I'm out of practice, but take your pick, baby." Dean sweeps his arm towards the shelf, where the bored game-operator is pointing listlessly at Benny's options.

"Thankin' you kindly." Benny says, picking out a small stuffed monkey. "I appreciate you _gibbon_ me your winnings, sweetheart."

"Stop _monkeying_ around." Dean fires back with a warm laugh. "And you're welcome."

Now, it's Benny's turn, Dean leaning in with an arm around his waist to whisper advice under the guise of pressing a kiss to Benny's cheek. "The gun's sight is off, it shoots about an inch lower than the center."

Benny makes no indication that he's heard Dean, but when he shoots, his shots are clean, knocking off all five targets with a neat _bam-bam-bam-bam-bam_. Dean's jaw drops open, the game-operator's face actually gaining some semblance of an expression.

"Holy shit," Dean shakes his head as Benny draws him back into his side.

"Take your pick, baby." Benny parrots back to him, kissing Dean's temple as his hand roams up and down over Dean's ribs. Instantly, Dean makes gimme-hands at the big Yoda stuffed toy hanging tantalizingly from the top of the stall's roof.

The game-operator hands it over, Dean wrapping it up in his arms with bubbling excitement. The Yoda's got to be at least thirty inches tall, and proper Star Wars merch too, the kind of thing that super-fans would fork out hundreds of dollars to own if they spotted it in the middle of Comicon. _Charlie's gonna be so jealous,_ Dean thinks.

"God, thank you Benny." He enthuses. His mouth almost hurts with how wide he's smiling, rearranging Yoda underneath his arm and looking down at it with a snicker. "Replaced by the student, the master has been."

"Star Wars fan, are we?"

"Oh, one-hundred percent. Seriously man, that was friggin' awesome."

"Jus' wanna keep my fiancé happy." Benny murmurs.

His hand settles on the curve of Dean's hip, encouraging Dean to tuck himself further into Benny's personal space, straining his head to the side to look at Benny. Their eyes meet, Dean acutely aware of how close their mouths are to touching, his lips tingling as he traces the high set of Benny's cheekbones, the sleek cut of his beard, the space between their faces humid in the height of the Kansas summer. It feels like the most natural thing in the world to close that space, Dean telegraphing his movements as his hand slides over the nape of Benny's neck, eyes closing as he breathes in reflexively. Benny meets him halfway, their mouths nudging before slotting easily together, a warm, soft drag. A small moan of joy hitching in Dean's throat, he presses closer, ready to deepen the kiss. From somewhere next to them, a loud chest-clearing cough blares out.

They break apart sheepishly to see the game-operator glaring at them.

"Okay, we can take a hint." Dean mutters, a little embarrassed.

Taking Dean's hand again, Benny drags him away from the booth and into the thicket of the fair's market. Eventually, they come across a table full of cheap rings. Half of them are plastic and clearly made for little girls, but Dean's eye snags on a silver one that's considerably larger than the rest of them, made to look like a dragon twining itself around a finger. Tugging Benny over, Dean picks the ring up, Benny splaying out his hand obligingly as Dean slides it over the ring finger, gently working it past the knuckle.

"Alright handsome, you saw nothing." Dean insists, pulling the ring back off.

Benny raises a hand and turns around, feigning ignorance. Quickly, Dean pays the woman behind the counter, depositing Yoda safely next to him as he gets down on one knee.

"Okay, you can look."

The moment Benny turns, the side of his mouth already hitching up in expectation of what's coming, Dean grabs his hand. "Benjamin Lafitte? I know you've already asked me and everything, but I mean I technically asked you first, just without the ring... Anyway, I may not be as romantic as you, but I do know my Mom must be looking down on me, because she was _right."_

He hadn't actually intended to say that last bit. Dean swallows hard, trying to get back to safer ground. "You make a damn good pie, and I've never met someone so good at carnival games in my life. So I guess what I'm trying to ask is - will you marry me?"

"I would be honored," Benny says, voice low, "To make an honest man of you."

Dean barely gets the ring on Benny's finger before he's pulled up to Benny's height, wrapped solidly up in a hug that damn near sweeps him off his feet. Arms wrapped around Benny's neck, Dean sways back, laughing as Benny nuzzles his face into Dean's neck, kissing at the thin skin there. The instant Benny pulls back, Dean puts a hand to his jaw, guiding them into a giddy, deep kiss. He's so wrapped up in the feeling of Benny's arms around him, the gentle suction as Benny's mouth closes over his bottom lip - _fuck, he's a good kisser too_ \- that Dean doesn't even notice the applause until he breaks the kiss and steps back.

"Congratulations," One woman says, still clapping absentmindedly as she comes up to them.

He flushes. "Oh - uh, we're not actually... I mean that wasn't actually real, it's kind of a running joke between both of us, you know?"

She looks between the two of them, eyebrow raised above her sunglasses as she gives a conspiratorial laugh. "Are you sure? Because that sounded pretty genuine to me, and I've been married three times."

"Pretty sure, ma'am." Benny chuckles, tucking Yoda underneath his arm, the monkey still in his hand. "We only met five hours ago."

Her eyebrow hikes higher. "Well then, it would seem to be going pretty well so far."

"That was weird." Dean mutters to himself as he takes Yoda off of Benny's hands.

But then again, this whole afternoon has been weird, in an incredibly good way. It seems kind of like a dream, the way they've been almost ridiculously compatible so far, Benny checking off every item on the list of Dean's preferences one by one. To tell the truth, as fun as it's been, Dean's sort of cursing himself out as well. He has a bad habit of becoming very attached to people, very quickly. See: Lisa, who was supposed to be a weekend, ended up being three years. See: Cas, who was an 'accidental one night only' during the tail-end of high school, ended up being his biggest heartbreak to date.

"Dean? Sweetheart, you okay there?"

He blinks, Benny's fingers sliding between his. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Benny gives him a point-blank accusing look, and Dean moves uncomfortably underneath it, fiddling with the edge of Yoda's robe. "I was just thinking, you know, about after today. Would you uh - I don't know - want to get... dinner sometime?"

Immediately, Benny's expression brightens. "Yeah Chief, I think I would like that."

This whole day, there's been a kind of fairytale layer of make-believe over their date-but-not-a-date, making it feel easy, safe even, to play along with it and act the happy couple. What Dean just managed to stutter out though, that was genuine. Benny's answer, too. Which makes all of this feel so much more real, and worse, gives this situation so much more potential for hurt.

After their little confirmation that they do, in fact, want to see each other again, their conversations start taking on a deeper slant. Benny shares his experience with Katrina back in '05, hinting at the darker sides of his military career - Dean expands on his childhood, his complicated co-dependence with Sam. He guesses it's the fact that he and Benny technically still barely know each other, since it's always so much easier to spill your heart to a stranger.

They end up doing a full loop of the fair, shoulders brushing together after they silently decide to drop hands (there's nothing worse than sweaty hand-holding.) Benny leads Dean to a row of tents with storage lockers, fishing out a key from the depths of his high-waisted pants and letting Dean cram Yoda and the monkey into the locker instead of having to carry them around. The sun's starting to set now, the crowd thinning out as the sky radiates out into shades of gold and pink. Benny points up at it, smile hitching up one side of his mouth, makes some comment about it being good sailing tomorrow. Dean listens to him talk about his boat in that honey-rough accent that Dean could listen to all day, and Dean lets his own smile glide across his face in awe. This is a man that Dean could fall for, easy as falling asleep.

"So, what we thinkin' about in terms of dinner?" Benny asks, pulling Dean from his languid thoughts. "Saw a place doin' curly fries with pulled pork'n BBQ sauce, if you're interested."

"Sounds good," Dean says distractedly, and then: "Hey Benny, can I uh... never mind."

Benny's head quirks. "Woah now, you go on and ask. Promise I ain't gon' take offense."

"Can I kiss you again?"

"Of course you can, sugar." Benny says, pressing closer to Dean, hand fitting perfectly on the curve of his hip. "You don' have to ask. I'm givin' you blanket permission here."

He grins, abashed. It's Benny who makes the first move this time, cradling Dean's head in his hands so gently that Dean trembles a little bit under it, made fragile by the care in Benny's fingertips. Benny tilts their faces together, mouth closing over Dean's bottom lip before easing them into kiss after rolling kiss. Dean moans after it, chasing the sweet softness of Benny's mouth, juxtaposed against the oversensitizing scratch of his beard against Dean's chin.

"You know, you're gorgeous in this light." Benny murmurs, thumb stroking over Dean's cheekbone.

Dean's breath hitches. "Funny... I was just thinking the same thing about you."

That earns him another kiss, deeper this time, Benny licking into Dean's mouth, his tongue hot and velveteen. "Mmmmm, I thought we were supposed to be gettin' dinner."

A whine rises up in Dean's chest, head warring with his stomach. "Yeah, okay. Plenty of time for making out later, right? Among other things, of course."

"Other things?" Benny smirks, but his eyebrow raises disbelievingly. Licking at his lips, Dean runs a hand up Benny's chest, kneading at the thick muscle there, making his best attempt to look coyly up from underneath the fan of his eyelashes.

"Yeah, other things. Later. If you'd happen to want... more."

"You're something, Dean Winchester." Benny shakes his head, blowing out an affected breath.

"Got to buy me dinner first, though." Dean grins.

"Well, obviously. I am a gentleman, after all."

They go and get their fries, making a pit stop back at the tents on the way. Benny insists on making Dean wear the peacoat he pulls out of the back of the locker. And so they find somewhere to tuck themselves away, sitting against the glowing-white canvas of one of the tents, light spilling out from the entrance. Dean wraps the peacoat closer around himself, subtly breathing in the spice and musk of Benny's scent - they feed each other curly fries loaded with jalapenos and sauce, Dean flirting his tongue over the tips of Benny's fingers to catch the salt. He's outdone though when Benny returns the favor, holding Dean's hand still as he takes Dean's finger into his mouth, sucking gently with his pupils blown.

After dinner, they walk over to the part of the fair they hadn't got around to exploring yet. It turns out to feature all of the death-inducing fair rides that Dean remembers fondly from his childhood: The Vomit Comet, the Tilt-A-Whirl, a small roller-coaster that Dean's pretty sure violates about thirty health and safety regulations. Arm hooked through Benny's elbow, Dean drags him over to The Wipeout, figuring it's probably best to start out tame if they want to hold onto their dinner.

But instead of getting into the line, Benny digs his heels in, yanking Dean to a very decisive halt. "Aw now, Chief, I ain't getting onto that thing."

Dean's jaw drops into a teasing, scandalized smile. "You're scared of _The Wipeout_? Dude, it's barely even a ride, it's not even one step up from being a freakin' carousel."

"I don't _do_ rides." Benny says, crossing his arms.

"Awww... that's so cute." Dean croons. "The Big Bad ex-Navy SEAL is scared of a little ride."

"That's the point, Dean." He snaps, his voice thick and angrier than Dean's heard it before. "I don' expect you to understand, but getting spun around every which way on some fairground death trap feels a hell of a lot like bein' inside a crashing plane, or bein' inside a patrol car when it goes over top an IED."

Inside his chest, Dean's heart goes solid as a rock. Benny doesn't meet his eye, every line of his body tight. "Shit, I'm sorry Benny. I didn't know - I didn't think."

The tension drops out of Benny's shoulders, going from angry to exhausted in moments. Swallowing hard, Dean steps closer. As if approaching a skittish beast, he holds out his hands slowly, smoothing down Benny's chest before tentatively nudging his fingers into the line between Benny's ribs and his biceps. Benny sighs, but there's not really any malice behind it as he lifts his arms, Dean going quickly and thankfully into his embrace.

"I'm a stupid son of a bitch sometimes," Dean says quietly, arm around the back of Benny's neck to stroke through the short hair at the nape. "Just tell me, yeah? Say 'Dean, you're being a stupid son of a bitch' and I'll listen."

Benny snorts against Dean's shoulder. "Will do, cher."

Dean presses closer for a second, nuzzling into the crook of Benny's neck, his other hand rubbing gentle circles over the broad expanse of Benny's back. He could do with a lot more of this - Benny wrapping him up in huge arms, the warmth of his body bleeding through. Even though he's in the wrong, supposed to be comforting Benny not the other way around, Dean's helpless to stop himself from luxuriating in the, the _safety_ that he feels.

"So... is the Ferris Wheel okay?"

That earns him a chuckle, Benny's large hands fitting perfectly over Dean's hips as they break apart. "Yeah, we can go on the Ferris Wheel. Ain't it traditional to kiss at the top?"

"Something like that, yeah." Dean says, and leans forward to sneak a kiss onto Benny's cheek, thumb brushing over the warm skin of Benny's neck. "But I mean, I don't think we have to limit it to the top, you know...?"

Rolling his eyes good-naturedly, Benny pulls Dean back in, beard brushing deliciously and barely-there against Dean's jawline as he presses a kiss to the pulse-point underneath Dean's ear. In the darkness, in the wake of their little almost-fight, the atmosphere feels more vulnerable, raw, like a hitched breath or a glance to say _I'm trusting you on this._

Dean tangles their fingers, lifts their linked hands up to brush his mouth over the five-dollar ring on Benny's finger. They get in line for the Ferris Wheel and stand in warm silence, Benny's palm alighting on the small of Dean's back to help him into the passenger car. Immediately, Dean pulls Benny's coat off of his shoulders, gesturing for Benny to lean forward. It barely reaches from the very back of Dean's shoulder to Benny's opposite shoulder, but they tuck into each other anyway, the gaudy flashing lights turning their faces multi-colored in the cold night air. As the car travels the lazy half-circle to the top, Dean tilts his face to Benny's and they trade kisses, slow and chaste at first, gaining heat as they travel higher.

"Mmmph... you taste good." Dean murmurs.

"That'll be the BBQ sauce." Benny quips, nipping at Dean's bottom lip.

"They _were_ good fries."

Benny's tongue nudges at the cupid's bow of Dean's lips, and then they're licking into each other's mouths, a low growl vibrating at the back of Benny's throat, sucking fiercely at Dean's mouth as Dean struggles to get closer. Benny cards his hand through Dean's hair and holds his head still, taking complete control of the kiss, a moan fluttering in Dean's chest as they pull apart to regain the ability to breathe.

"Hot damn," Dean pants, his lips red and kiss-swollen.

They crest the top of the Ferris Wheel, giving a wide view across the now-tiny tents, the rest of the twinkling rides and past the fairgrounds to where trees block out parts of the endless sprawl of houses. Dean can barely spare a glance for it, though, his head canted into Benny's neck to mouth down the smooth, wide line of his throat, finding a sensitive spot just underneath the hook of his jaw and nipping there to gauge the reaction.

"Desperate, ain't you?" Benny laughs, even as the stutter in his words gives him away.

 

Benny's fingers tease along the hem of Dean's t-shirt and then push underneath, rubbing at the hot, smooth skin there - Dean snaps Benny's suspenders against his chest before massaging up and down the thick muscle of Benny's thigh - by the time they have to get out of the car, both of them are turned-on and jittering with expectation. Benny strides back through the dark maze of the fairground, Dean in hot pursuit. Back at the storage tent, Benny clears out his locker, setting Yoda at Dean's feet and putting the monkey into his duffle-bag. Meanwhile, Dean slits his thumb-nail under the protective plastic wrapping over his candy-ring, ripping it off and closing his mouth over the candy jewel, knowing exactly what kind of plush-lipped picture he's making.

Heaving the duffle's strap over one shoulder, Benny turns back around. "You're suckin' on your ring? Sugar, I'm hurt - how could you eat your engagement ring?"

"Well, take me home with you, and this ring won't be the only thing I'll be sucking."

A deep groan rumbles out of Benny's mouth at Dean's coy tone. His arm slides around Dean's lower back, daring to give Dean's ass a promising squeeze. "Come on then, sweetheart. Quicker we get outta here, the quicker you can make good on your flirtin.'"

It takes a frustratingly long time to get out of the carpark. Even though the field where most people had parked is considerably emptier than it was at the height of the day, there's still a decent number of cars. Benny had described his truck to Dean and given him the license plate, but it's still a goddamn mission trying to find Benny's truck in the line of departing cars. Dean follows Benny through Hutchinson's township, heading in the opposite direction from Dean's home-town of Lebanon. Instead, they end up on the outskirts of Wichita, Dean shifting in his seat with anticipation as they pull up to a small bungalow.

He parks up behind Benny's rusted old truck, getting out just as Benny comes up to Baby's hood and whistles, stroking a reverent hand across the black metal.

"Benny, meet my Baby." Dean grins.

"She's a beauty. What year is she, sixty-nine?"

"Sixty-seven, but she's cherry." He says proudly. "Used to be my Dad's, but it got impounded after he crashed her drunk. Uncle Bobby caught wind of it and bought her, cheap off the lot since she was pretty much totaled. But I nursed her back to health. 

"Damn, lucky man. I'd give my left arm for a classic like her, but you know... Can't exactly afford to buy a classic car."

Benny steps closer and fishes out his house-keys, jangling them triumphantly in front of Dean.

Lunging forward, Dean wraps his arms around Benny's neck, still worked up from earlier, kissing him soundly and then muttering against Benny's lips, "Please tell me you'll give me the house tour in the morning, because I don't think I can wait."

Immediately, Benny's hands go to the back of Dean's thighs, pulling. Dean takes the hint and leaps up into Benny's arms, moaning as Benny takes his weight easily. They make out, all teeth and tongue, Dean almost rutting against Benny's stomach as he walks them to the door.

"Fuck that's hot." Dean moans, Benny holding him up with only one arm as he fumbles with the house keys, unlocking the door and stumbling through the doorway.

"Well, carryin' you across the threshold is supposed to be traditional."

Not that Dean sees much of it, but Benny's house is tiny, taking only a couple strides until they're in Benny's bedroom. Dean's thrown onto the bed, bouncing on the mattress and laughing. Instantly, Benny's on top of him, rucking his shirt up and mouthing at Dean's stomach like a beast possessed, his beard scratching and tickling, mouth hot and hungry.

"Arms up, sweetheart." Benny growls, pulling Dean's shirt off the instant Dean struggles out of Benny's coat, and then he pauses, breath catching. "... Look at you. Gorgeous."

Dean half-turns his head, not necessarily self-conscious of his body, but uncomfortable under the awed intensity of Benny's gaze. Benny catches the side of his face, thick fingers turning Dean's head to meet his eye again, and bends to press a kiss tenderly to the center of Dean's chest.

"Beautiful boy," He praises, testing it out. "Love the way you flush so pretty, even if you don' have to be shy. Gon' take care of you, sugar."

Chest arching up off the bed, Dean makes a noise that he wishes he could pretend wasn't a whimper. He's heard sweet nothings before, but Benny seems to mean it, the compliments soaking into Dean's skin and soul, filling in something empty there. Benny undoes his jeans button, pulling down the zipper as he works his way down Dean's body, yanking Dean's jeans and boxers halfway down his thighs.

"Mmmm, there you are." Benny says as Dean's cock springs free.

It's such a stupid thing to say that Dean can't help but laugh, the tension of his own insecurities broken. Benny smirks into Dean's hip, unapologetic, his beard brushing over the sensitive skin there in a way that only makes Dean laugh harder.

"You clean?" He asks, taking Dean's dick in hand and giving it a few practiced strokes.

"Shit - Benny - _ah,_ I thought I was supposed to be the one sucking you off." Dean huffs, and then focuses on the question properly. "Yeah, I'm clean, I'm clean."

"Good. I am too. I'll let you have your fun in a minute, but for now, I'm gon' explore."

"K-knew I was right," Dean pinches at his own nipples, drawing Benny's attention to them, cursing as Benny's mouth closes over one sensitive nub, lathing over it, suckling, nipping, and then soothing with a swipe of his thumb.

"Right about what?"

Dean's hand tangles in Benny's short hair, wrapping his legs back around Benny's waist.

"Told Sam, you looked like the kind of guy to - to boss me around in bed, and I was, _fuck,_ right."

"And you like that?" Benny asks, pinning Dean's arms down against the bed, his grip gentle enough that Dean knows he's just playing, but proving that he could hold Dean down if they both wanted him to. "Mmmm... judgin' by that lil shiver, I'm guessin' so."

"Yeah, yeah, please." He grinds up against Benny's stomach, cock brushing against the rough fabric. "Not... not super-kinky, but I like being held down. Like that you're stronger than me. 

His face is flushed now, humiliation as well as exertion, but Benny just smiles and presses a tiny kiss against Dean's forehead, a soft drop of rain in a desert of burning need. "I have no problems with that, darlin'. But nothing more than that tonight, alright? And I need you to know, I don' hold with the whole safeword thing. You say stop, or you say no, and I do. Easy as that."

Dean strains up to kiss at Benny's forehead, his cheeks. He's perfect, exactly the heady mixture of affection and domination that Dean's long past pretending he doesn't crave. Benny takes it as the agreement that it is, kissing Dean slick-slow now, searching out the spots that make Dean whimper, the spots that make him moan, the spots that make Dean arch his back and beg.

"You okay with love-bites?" He murmurs.

Dean hasn't heard them called that before, but now that Benny's said it, Dean likes it more than the cheapness of the word 'hickey.' He bares his throat, whining for it, pushing Benny's suspenders down and rucking his Henley up and out, hands roaming over the vast plains of Benny's back. Benny sets to biting at Dean's neck, sucking sharply and then instantly lapping over the marked skin, nuzzling and working along the line of Dean's collarbone.

"Mmmph, can I? I think it's my turn to explore." Dean huffs.

Benny rolls them over, hisses a sharp _"Ow,"_ as Dean manages to knee him in the hip.

"Sorry," Dean rubs over the hurt area, feeling the cut of Benny's hipbone, a sharply angled line that trails into his trousers.

He pulls his jeans off, but pulls his boxers up, not particularly wanting a friction-burn on a delicate area while he rides Benny's lap. Dean gets into a better position, straddling Benny's waist with his hands palming over Benny's chest. Settling his hands on Dean's hips, Benny rocks them into a slow rhythm. Dean can feel the hard line of Benny's cock sliding against his ass through his boxers, his own dick twitching and leaking precome. He unbuttons the Henley impatiently, wrestling to get it off of Benny's arms, cursing as he catches sight of the singlet underneath.

"So many goddamn layers." He complains, and Benny half sits up, whipping the singlet off and flinging it to some corner of the room.

As Benny lies back down, Dean drinks in the sight in front of him. Benny's torso is covered in thick, dark-brown hair that makes a loose heart-shape on his upper chest, stroking inward from his abdomen to make a thatched line that traces down the middle and blends into a treasure trail, making Dean's mouth water. He's not glass-cuttingly ripped, the shapes of his abs flexing underneath hair and a comfortable layer of fat, and his arms huge and softly bulging with muscle as he strokes up and down over Dean's sides.

"Now who's gorgeous?" Dean breathes, scritching through Benny's chest hair to search out the darkish-brown of Benny's nipples, already pebbled. "Jesus, you're hot."

"Well, I ain't no Abercrombie and Fitch model," Benny chuckles, eyes sliding closed as Dean feels over his ribs, kneading at the sturdy muscle on his stomach and chest.

"Dude, I've never liked male models. All twigs and photo-shopped abs." Dean grins, leaning down to kiss Benny, nosing down his throat and rubbing himself slowly over the sizable bulge in Benny's pants. "You're so completely my type that it's not even funny."

Pushing himself up onto his knees, Dean shuffles back, popping the button at the top of Benny's high-waisted trousers, pulling the zipper down in a smooth glide. Unrestrained by his pants, Benny's cock tents his Saxx underwear, filling out the pouch at the front in a way that's just fucking _obscene_. Dean's mouth starts watering - he kind of knew Benny'd have a big dick, in an academic sort of way, but son of a bitch, you know? With Benny's help, they manage to get him to wriggle all the way out of his pants, and then Dean pulls down Benny's underwear, a groan being ripped from his chest, long and guttural.

Benny gives himself a lazy stroke, his cock lolling huge against his stomach. Benny's dick is in proportion with the rest of him, big and thick, a definitive couple of inches longer than Dean, and Dean is no slacker in that category. He takes Benny's cock in hand, moaning at the way he can barely get his fingers all the way around the girth.

"Gon' make good on your promise?" Benny asks.

"Fuck yeah," Dean kitten-licks at the tip, lathing over the slit and then dipping his tongue under Benny's foreskin, chasing the bitter-salt of precome.

Benny grunts, head falling back. Grabbing Benny's hand, Dean guides him to card through Dean's hair, taking the head of Benny's cock into his mouth. He pulls back, licking his lips and then sucking up and down the length of Benny's dick. Dean knows he needs to get Benny soaked before he goes anywhere near trying to deep-throat, getting wet and messy, saliva coating his swollen lips, down his chin, curling his tongue around the curvature of Benny's cock as he moans.

Finally, eyes hooded, Dean relaxes his jaw and lets the broad head of Benny's dick slide towards the back of his throat, bobbing his head up and down until he works himself up to pushing all the way down. Benny groans, obviously trying not to thrust. Dean breathes out through his nose and deep-throats again, feeling Benny's cock pop past the entrance to his throat, holding himself with his face buried in the musky curls at the base of Benny's dick before he pulls back. Humming, Dean encourages Benny to thrust up shallowly, never happier than with a cock buried in his mouth, stretching his jaw wide open as he hums. He lets Benny fuck his mouth for a little while longer, rubbing at Benny's perineum and rolling his balls, until Benny pulls gentle and insistent at his hair.

"Christ - _merde_ , sweetheart, you're so damn good at that. Looked so good takin' my cock, I coulda come just from looking at those bedroom eyes."

"You gonna fuck me, baby?" Dean asks, rubbing his face against one of Benny's thighs, before he crawls up Benny's body, settling back in his earlier position. "Gonna fuck me with that big cock?"

In a swift movement, Benny rolls them over, pinning Dean to the bed with his entire weight. Dean licks his lips, biting at his bottom lip and then groaning as Benny sucks back over the marks he'd made before. "You'd like that, hey baby boy? Tell me now, how do you want it, sugar?"

"Any way I can get it." Dean shoots back.

"Mouthy, ain't you?"

Dean gives Benny his best shit-eating grin, and before he knows what's happening, he's manhandled onto his front. Benny tucks his hands underneath Dean's stomach and hoists him up. He’s trying to get Dean onto all fours, but Dean refuses, sinking into a full presentation, his back curving down, ass in the air as he buries his face in his arms, fisting the sheets. Benny's weight disappears from the bed for a moment, and Dean glances up to see him pulling the rest of his clothes off, rummaging in his bedside table for lube and condoms.

"That's right cher, you just keep that perfect ass up there for me." Benny purrs, running a hand up Dean's back, kneeling behind him. "Just let me open you up nice and slow."

A hand slaps at Dean's ass, not hard but sharp. He gasps. "Please baby, not too slow."

Dean waits to feel a lubed-up finger at his hole - it doesn't come. Instead, Benny spreads his asscheeks apart, hot breath over the cleft of his ass making Dean shiver in anticipation. Benny licks a hungry stripe right up from perineum to tailbone, punching a desperate moan out of Dean's mouth. Sweat breaks out on Dean's hairline as Benny eats him out like a man starved, alternating between lapping over his hole, tongue rough, to spitting and snaking his tongue against the furl of muscle, seeking entrance. Dean has had maybe one or two people do this to him before, but never of their own volition, and never with this amount of enthusiasm, and it's so fucking good he can't think straight, legs trembling.

Benny hums and moans as he bites at the sweet curve of Dean's ass, thumbs stroking on either side of Dean's hole, coaxing him open with the tip of his tongue pushing inside. As far gone as he is, Dean barely even notices when a finger joins in the action, slick with lube and gloriously thick.

"You s-son of a bitch, I need more. Please, please Bear, I need it."

"What you call me?" Benny asks, voice rough and curious.

Dean thrashes his head from side to side as Benny's mouth rejoins the party, almost nibbling at his rim as a second finger pushes in, Dean's cock dripping onto the bed, struggling to get his legs open further. "Bear - I c-called... shit, I need you inside me, Bear."

Benny kisses at the small of his back, chin scraping wetly against Dean's skin, dampened by lube and saliva. "I know, sweetheart. Your Bear's gon' give you what you need."

"Better hurry up with it, then." Dean snarks, rolling his hips back against the two fingers.

He hears the lube bottle click, and then a third digit teases at his rim, easing in as Dean bears down, resting on one arm just long enough to get a hand around his own dick, squeezing at the base in an attempt to take some of the pressure off. Benny tucks his pinky finger in, and suddenly Dean's riding all four fingers, gasping and cursing.

"Alright baby boy, you're ready," Benny murmurs.

Something halfway between a moan and a whimper hitches out of Dean's throat as the latex-covered head of Benny's cock presses against Dean's hole, impossibly huge and blunt. Benny pushes in, one long, slow slide, the noise spiraling embarrassingly high in Dean's mouth as Benny bottoms out.

"Yeah, fuck... so big, so _full_."

"Nngh - you feel so good, sugar. You're so tight, took me so well." Benny praises right back.

"Come on, come on," Dean whines, yanking a pillow underneath his stomach. "Baby, I want to lie down, want you to - mmph - want you to hold me down and fuck me properly."

Benny's responding noise is carnal, a grunt of a growl. He pulls out and arranges Dean to face the other way, his head hanging almost off the edge of the bed. Satisfied, Benny pushes in again, stretching Dean's hole out so wide, his cock pushing in so deep that Dean's eyes roll back with sheer pleasure. Together, they manage to get Dean to lie down without needing Benny to pull out completely. Benny almost straddles Dean's ass, knees either side of his hips and feet angled back so that his shins press Dean's legs into the mattress.

"Is this okay?"

His hands massage Dean's back gently, before he presses down on Dean's shoulder blades, his fingers tucked securely over Dean's shoulders, thumbs rubbing deep circles into the topmost vertebrae at the nape of Dean's neck.

"Freakin' A." He replies, hazy with pleasure.

Starting up a slow, rolling pace, Benny fucks into Dean, the mattress shifting under their bodies. His cock grazes along the sheets, rough but made bearable by the way his hips are raised on the pillow, and when Benny shifts angles, the head of his cock slides against Dean's prostate, sending static-electric crackles of pleasure through Dean's limbs. He can almost feel it in the marrow of his bones, trying to spread his legs and whining happily when he finds he can't. Dean feels so secure, so safe underneath Benny's solid, calloused hands. Benny is undeniably in charge, undeniably stronger, and Dean melts into it, lightheaded with arousal as phosphenes pop in front of his eyes.

"Bear..." Dean mumbles, trying to rock back. "Can you hurry this up?"

"I want to try somethin,' sweetheart. If it's too much - if I'm too heavy - just tell me, okay?"

Benny slides his arms palm-up underneath Dean's shoulders, curling his hands back over, holding Dean the opposite way from how he had been before. He lifts his shins off of Dean's legs and, seeing what he's getting at, Dean lets Benny rearrange their legs until Dean's thighs are cradled by the backs of Benny's knees. With his weight redistributed onto his forearms and knees, Benny lowers himself directly on top of Dean, pushing him bone-deep into the mattress, the kind of complete skin-to-skin contact that Dean would never think to ask for.

"Ready, sugar?" Benny's breath comes heavy in his ear.

"Yeah, I'm peachy. Now fuck me."

"Bossy-bossy, baby boy," He chides, mouthing at the crook of Dean's neck.

Dean rolls his body, barely able to move beyond tiny, serpentine thrusts, gasping as Benny's massive cock nudges his prostate. Benny laughs, bracing his body more solidly, and Dean has only a moment to grin to himself before Benny shoves into him and then - again and again - jackhammering, rutting - the slap of his hips and balls against Dean's ass, sinfully loud - his prostate is being pounded, merciless, and Dean almost _screams._

It's too much, it's fucking perfect, their bodies rocking violently, the mattress squeaking and whining, Dean's cock scraping against the sheets painfully, but it only heightens the machine-gun explosions of pleasure.

"Shit," His fists tremble, white-knuckled on the edge of the bed, unable to do anything under the blinding onslaught of animal need, "Yes, yes, Benny, pleaa-ah-ah- _ah."_

Benny bites down hard on his neck, cock splitting Dean open to the core, can almost feel it in his stomach, and the tooth-edge, the sharp suction against his shoulder throws Dean recklessly over the edge. He whites out for a moment - vision comes back grainy - his cock explodes, shooting off come in a slick-wet-dirty slide, oversensitizing his cock, and Benny's hips stutter, hands clenching against Dean's shoulders as he comes.

"Nnnngh... m'sorry," Benny pants, his chest heaving against Dean's back.

Dean's head slumps over the edge of the bed, completely fucked out, Benny hot and heavy on top of him. "Mmmm, what for?"

Easing himself off of Dean, Benny pulls off the condom, ties it off and chucks it to the floor.

Rubbing sweaty fingertips over the juncture of Dean's neck, he strains forward to kiss and lathe his tongue soothingly against the area. "This - I'm sorry sugar, it's gon' bruise, badly. Didn't mean to bite that hard."

"You..." Dean lifts himself up with great effort, arms weak, and Benny immediately wraps his arms gently around Dean's waist, dragging him off of the wet patch and on top of Benny. "Dude, that was - mmm - prob'ly the best sex I've had since... about forever. Don't care bout bruises unless s'fucking bleeding or something."

"Well, it ain't bleeding," Benny huffs, running lazy hands all over Dean's body, stroking the aches out of his muscles. "An' just for the record, it was the best sex I've had too."

"Good," Dean hums against Benny's throat.

They stay like that for a couple of minutes, too boneless and satiated to want to move. Eventually though, Dean begins to feel kind of gross, sweat drying on his skin, and he's pretty sure he's glued them together with the come still coating his stomach. With a grimace, he pulls himself away and asks if they can shower before bed.

"Stayin' over the night, then?"

Dean freezes, two steps away from the door. "Uh... can I? Probably should have asked."

"Of course you can, sweetheart." Benny pushes himself up to standing, wrapping his arms around Dean from behind, kissing soft and whiskered along his shoulder.

Benny's shower is nowhere near big enough for two grown men, but they're both too tired for this one-at-a-time bullshit, so they squeeze into the tiny glass cubicle, leaning against each other underneath the spray. Dean towels himself off with slow movements, handing the towel to Benny to do the same thing. Back in Benny's bedroom, Dean chucks the used condom in the bin, Benny pulling off the damp sheets and grabbing a comforter out of his closet. Curling up along Benny's side, both naked and warm, Dean pillows his head on Benny's shoulder. Benny wraps an arm around Dean, ducking his head to kiss Dean's hair. Hand splayed over Benny's stomach, Dean searches out Benny's other arm, tracing down to his hand where the ring still sits.

"Goodnight, sugar." Benny murmurs.

Dean's fingers touch against the now-warm plastic, smiling into Benny's neck as he thinks of the candy-ring on the nightstand, now sticky and probably inedible. "Night, Bear."

Almost one year later, they swap the candy-ring out for a real one.


End file.
